


Pure

by FallenGabriella



Series: Infection [3]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/M, Jill Valentine Deserves Better, Jill Valentine Deserves Nice Things, Nicholai is Literally The Reason™ She Can't, She Still Sort of Does, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23737729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenGabriella/pseuds/FallenGabriella
Summary: Jill seeks to give away something precious (and I am not very original with titles).
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Jill Valentine
Series: Infection [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709857
Comments: 23
Kudos: 89





	Pure

Jill Valentine's love life was as barren as a desert.

 _That's not true_. A desert had life in it. Her love life did not. It was as dead as a mausoleum, as whatever was rotting beneath the debris of Arklay Mansion (she hoped), as unbreathing as a rock.

Really, she wanted to blame it on her dad having a strict 'no boys' policy past any reasonable age. Sixteen seemed a bit much, right? But that excuse was worthless after the divorce her parents had went through when she was seven. Maybe it was her mother's traditional standpoint on marriage, shattered by her dad's leaving, and her new bitter approach to any and every man that so much as breathed within two kilometers of her. It could have been her own inability to be anything but 'one of the guys', despite her "fine tits and ass". Brad's words, not hers.

But she knew who and what was to blame. Jill Valentine, man-eater extraordinaire. It wasn't that she didn't like men! Okay, some men were perverted assholes who needed to have their teeth kicked in. She swore, one time in bootcamp, and she never heard the end of it. But he should have known better, slapping her on the backside like some frat boy at a party. That, unfortunately, was beside the point. No, the point was, all the decent guys she'd met were gay, straight, or taken. And she was not about to be a homewrecker like her father. She lost interest in all others, within ten seconds of meeting them, based upon their all too often disgusting pickup lines.

It wasn't even the mansion that did it. She'd been so focused on surviving, maintaining her guard, reserving her ammunition, and deciding within seconds on whether to fight or run. She hadn't had a cliche moment, wondering if she should proposition Chris, or hell, even Wesker. If anything, physical contact was just another thing that had been stolen from her. Every brush of an elbow on the subway, the hand that grazed hers when she got her morning coffee, or taps of bare skin on hers while she strolled down the street. All forms of touch drew a shudder to her shoulders, bumps breaking out across her arms and the back of her neck. She started wearing jackets. She hadn't so much as looked at any of her favorite tops or skirts since the Mansion.

Intimacy seemed impossible. But alcohol had a funny way of messing with one's perception. Another excuse, another lie. She was only halfway through her first bottle. Cold sweat beaded off the amber, curling down her knuckles as she stared at the wall. People chatted and milled around her. Her therapist said it would be good for her to get out around people, to get used to them again. The living ones, anyway. No one spoke to her though, no guys had come along to chat her up yet, but the night was young... 

_And full of monsters_. Jill raised her beer, pausing when the warm edge touched her lips. Something burned along her nape. Her brow creased, hand falling as she narrowed her gaze. She knew eyes when she felt them.

His were pale. She couldn't tell the shade, under the neon glow overhead, the blood-red light echoed through his hair. Silver? He didn't look that old. She would have placed him somewhere in his thirties, probably closer to the middle. He had a strong jaw, with cheekbones to match, and an angular nose. He was all sharp edges, the tendons of his neck striking out from the blackness caused by the intense florescent glare. One of his legs extended onto the floor, while the other was drawn up by his knee. He was stretched out like a cat, one arm casually thrown over the back of his chair, while the other nursed a bottle. Looked like he'd had about five, onto his sixth. All black. From his undoubtedly steel-toed boots, his cargo pants, t-shirt, all the way up to his coat. The inside was fuzzy though, white fleece, with a collar that curled out.

He looked like the man every woman's mother warned her about.

He even had the self-satisfied leer to go with his whole ensemble. Jill rolled her eyes, ignoring the way his smile curled across his cheeks. It reminded her of a wolf, lips pulling back to reveal the sharp, curved canines underneath. His looked bloodied in the crimson light. Her father's voice echoed to her: " _my, what big eyes you have_." They had pinned themselves to her back, twin bullets dipped in steel. " _What big hands you have_ ". Ripping at her kevlar, shredding through it like paper. " _What big teeth you have_." She knew what it felt like, when they sunk in and clung, trying to rip you straight to the bone.

 _The better to see me with_ . Jill stood up, abandoning her usual place at the bar, and her bottle. She tossed her tip down, striding her way around the dance floor. She felt his gaze follow her. _The better to catch me with_. He rose out of his chair, abandoning his companions, an older looking man, and someone younger. He had shaggy dark hair, a nice smile. Jill didn't want nice. _The better to eat me with_.

"And what can I do for you, Miss...?" His accent cut through the music that blared overhead, the fast tempo beating through the backs of her eyes.

"Its Jill." Her mouth felt dry. She chewed the words out anyway - "You going to pretend to fuck me all night, or actually do it?" His brows shot up. He grinned, slicing her to her core. Her stomach felt heavier, hotter.

"Well, _Jill,_ " he spoke her name as no one ever had. As if there was an 'eel' behind the 'J', rather than 'ill'. For some reason, she liked that better. "I suppose that all depends on you." He tilted his head, and it occurred to her she hadn't seen him falter. Men usually slurred, staggered to even stand after so much alcohol. His accent, of course, he was Russian. You think after years of police training, she would know better than to stereotype someone though...

"Not here." She would not have her first time, pressed against a disgusting bathroom wall, with who knew what crusting and slick on the floor. "My place is three blocks away." Her mind stalled, blanked. She didn't know what she was doing. A month's worth of fresh paranoia, honed to the edge of delirium slammed into her. Yet it faded as quickly as it came, dwindling with the pulse of the ever-blaring music. She felt lightheaded. Her chest ached with something she couldn't name, indescribable and now far away.

Jill jerked her head for him to follow, walking past the throng of bodies. He followed, strides close and measured behind hers. She had three blocks to wonder about her decision. To wonder if she was crazy, if she was stupid, if she was suicidal. Umbrella was watching her, no doubt recording, or even trailing her movements. Or maybe, if she was lucky, she had fallen off their radar when Chief Irons - slimy piece of shit, probably in their back pocket - had suspended her. He could be a spy, an assassin, hell, he could be the man who'd been staking out her apartment the last three weeks. He was big, strong... well over six foot, and upon closer inspection, he was more jacked than over half the men she'd met in basic.

The night air blasted her cheeks, sliding through her hair. Jill swallowed, breathing as slow and deep as she dared. Her mother had taught her meditation, forced her to hone it into a daily habit. It gave her a level head, made it easier to think... clearly, she hadn't been practicing enough. Stars didn't exist in Raccoon City at night, lost in the fabric of lights that shone out against the darkness, and yet the shadows of alleyways stretched all the further for it. She believed she'd encountered the worst the city had to offer. She had endured war too, some of the trials of it... but nothing had come close to Arklay. How could anything compare?

She took the stairs of her building two at a time, stretching her legs. Her heart had slowly crawled into her throat, throbbing against her spine. Her vision speckled a little. Her hands felt tacky, sticking to the insides of her jean pockets. She fumbled with her keys inside of them, trying to hide how her fingers shook. Jill jammed her side against the door, shoving them in the locks, far too many for any sane person. 

As soon as she opened the door, she found herself pushed into her dark and chilly apartment. She caught the gasp before it passed her lips, his own pressing into her neck, beneath her jaw. Jill had to stop herself from lurching out of his grasp, the graze of his teeth alighting memories best left buried. But his lips were warm, slick and burning down to her pulse. His hands caught her waist, hauling her back into the broad expanse of his chest. Her heart slammed into her throat, choking her for a moment. He pressed closer, grinding his...

 _Hard_. That was the only thing her mind supplied. Hard and hot, even through layers of cloth. Jill forced herself to swallow. The pit of her stomach coiled, an answering wave of arousal that weakened her legs. She shuddered in the wake of it, unconsciously leaning back. She wasn't stupid. She knew what a cock looked like, had seen a few in books, and then been exposed to them in person at basic. It was natural. It was just...

"What's..." She tried to keep her voice even, to salvage some of her control from the painful thunder of her heart against her ribs. "What's your name?" She felt him grin against her ear, felt his hands slide to the front of her pants, felt him grind his solid erection against her buttocks again.

"Does it matter?" No, she supposed it didn't. She, the girl who hadn't been in a steady relationship since high school, promptly breaking it off with her boyfriend of four months after hearing him boast about how he'd be in her before midterms. She, the university student who had only ever received sweet pecks to her cheeks, her brow, or sloppy mouths forcefully pressed to hers. A knee to the groin, a few well placed, trained jabs set them straight. She, the woman with more trauma than most men experienced after combat.

She wouldn't allow the sickening acrid taste of regret to eat at her. She could only imagine what her mother would say of the first man she'd chosen to invite to her bed. The way he expertly flicked open her pants, the way his fingers sunk past her underwear with a pleased chuckle. How she so easily surrendered with a gasp, tossing her head back against his broad chest, whining when he circled her nub and pet it with one broad, long, rough finger. What was the difference between him and all those boys? Watching her so knowingly, ready to crow with victory when he caught her?

 _They were men_ . Her nether lips spread so easily, already growing damp, slicking his fingers. She heard him groan in her ear, his rasping voice speaking soft Russian into her hair. Jill couldn't understand it, but his tone was harsh and amused. She wondered if he was calling her a whore, jeering at the way she practically soaked his hand when he'd barely started. _He's a wolf_. 

Was it her own weakness? Her own selfish desire for touch she'd long denied herself? Maybe she really was the stuck up, frosty bitch they spoke about in basic... and yet her skin grew hotter, breaths heavier as he pushed his index inside of her. The stretch made her bite her lip, made her throttle something, something that trembled at the back of her throat. He cursed again, thrusting it in and out. Would he notice how tight she was? Did he care?

It was... so different than when she touched herself. Rubbing her nipples, stroking the tender apex at the top of her, slipping her fingers inside of herself. She was never so vocal, her sounds not even moans, not even whimpers. It was nothing like the scenes in movies or television. Her breaths would grow faster, shallower, but she hadn't ever been driven to true desperation. Was it the element of surprise? Was it the difference of his hands, so much bigger and harder? She couldn't tell, could hardly think beyond _yes_ and _more_ , as his thumb pressed against her hood. Her hips bucked, all instinct and need, but his hand on her hip denied her.

She could hear it, hear and feel the slick heat he had coaxed from her. Usually, she had to bring herself to orgasm before her cunt was so wet, trickling along her thighs to stain her jeans. Was she easy? Would he notice? His chest vibrated against her back, the sound that met her ear raising bumps down her nape, a chill sweeping down to her toes. It reminded her of the dogs, the twisted canines that had prowled Arklay, their jowls trickling with foam and gore. Jill's knees shook, barely holding her up, but suddenly his hands were at her thighs. She actually whined with the loss of his fingers, straining against him.

He pushed her against the wall, tugging her pants down till they were sloping at her knees. Her brow touched the bricks, breaths fogging against the skin on the backs of her hands. She dug her nails into the wall, grounding herself with the spike of pain. It was dark, virtually black. The neon lights reflected beyond her windows, blue and red caught in the moisture that clung in rivulets. They were so far away, striping across the wall covered in fashion posters and dirty clothes, with a shelf overflowing with random books on Detective stories and criminology. It all seemed so distant, the worry of her everyday life. The restless need for justice and discovery. If it was so easy to forget in the midst of sex, to abandon all fears and indecision, she could see why people became addicted.

Her fear returned when she heard the telltale pull of a zipper, the metallic teeth. She didn't want it this way. She didn't want to be pressed against a wall, trapped like a dog waiting to be bred. Yet it was the one thing not taken from her, not -

He brushed against her thigh, the slick tip of his erection skirting across her skin. Jill shivered, squeezed her eyes shut. It would hurt. She knew it would. It would ache, and she'd probably be sore for days, but it wouldn't hound her. It would be over. She wouldn't have to be as scared with the next one. She grit her teeth, swallowing down the voice that sounded so much like her own, crushing the weakness that threatened to unravel her.

His cock pushed, forcing her quivering, tight cunt to open around the blunt head. Jill closed her eyes, so tight that she saw stars falling behind her lids. They were red and blue and gold, and her breath hitched on something close to a sob, when his hips gave a rough jerk against her backside. She felt his body bow, chest pressing into her curved spine. That was... better. The touch grounded her, his muscles pulling across the planes of her back through her shirt and coat. She could feel it, the barely-there, thin slip of tendon. At least she thought she could. The way it stretched, taught and prickling with the promise of pain. Her sense of gravity shifted, blood surging in her ears, lips forced into a hard line. He hadn't even kissed her.

"You're -" He froze. Jill felt his chest rise, sharp and hard against her back. He spat something in his native tongue. He pulled back, drawing his cock from her still clenching cunt. She bit her lip, trying to withhold a whine, but it rose out of her anyway. His arousal twitched against her thigh. 

"Why did you...?" He grabbed her hips, spinning her around. She lost her balance, about to crash into the wall behind her, but he caught her by her shoulders. His grip made her hiss, snapping her head up to - she stopped when she saw his face. The lines of his cheeks, the sides of his nose, they were all deep and harsh. His nostrils flared, and his wide, pale eyes flashed in the gloom. A vein stood out against his jaw, teeth on full display. Jill trembled, her hands shoving into his chest to get him off. He didn't budge. Her heart and lungs stuttered, aching around each other. She felt small, too small, trapped between him and the wall. She also felt incredibly stupid, and would like it if the ground would swallow her into blackness. 

One of his hands tore at her jeans, scratching at her back pocket. Her brow furrowed at the sight of her wallet, his thumb flicking it open... she saw some of the fury bleed from his face, though she dared to believe shock replaced it. He was quick to compose his features though, still holding her in a bruising grip. 

"I do not appreciate being used, _Miss Valentine_." Jill swallowed.

"I wasn't using you, I invited you back here, I -" She was tripping over her excuse and they both knew it. "I don't see what the problem is."

"You're a virgin, Miss Valentine." She liked it better when he called her Jill. She shoved at his chest again, turning her face away. It burned from her cheekbones to her neck. Her eyes did too, but she wouldn't let him see her cry over something so insignificant. It was her choice. It was...

"Why does it matter?" She sounded defeated, even to her ears. He released a breath, half a chuckle, half a growl.

"Why does it matter?" He echoed, his snarl starting to twitch back into the corners of his lips. He took several, shuddering breaths, shaking his head. "Ты хоть представляешь, что это делает с мужчиной?" He spoke the words so softly, in his rough brogue, that she almost didn't catch them. She regretted not learning a Slavic language. He dropped her wallet, grabbing ahold of her hips, and lifted her into his chest as if she weighed as much as a feather. Jill grabbed his shoulders, trying her best not to gasp, her legs dangling from his palms. He was... taking her to her bed.

"If you don't want to -"

"Miss Valentine, I would have to be blind and stupid to turn down being the first to share your bed." Jill blinked, his traditional choice of words surprising her, considering the conversation that had led them back to her apartment. "As such, I think it very much a requirement." He shrugged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He dropped her onto the mattress, kneeling down before her half-dressed legs to start tugging at the laces of her boots. He adjusted his pants while he was at it, hiding what she had only briefly felt.

He didn't look up from his work, disposing of her socks as well. Jill tried to stop herself from blushing, impossible really, when he pulled at the ends of her pants. They slid, taking her underwear with them, down her thighs, taut over her knees, slipping past her ankles. She could smell the damp heat of her core, growing thicker in the air. It made her want to close her legs, shame tangling in her cheeks. She just hoped the shadows were long enough, the neon lights bright enough, to distract from her hopelessness. He rose, suddenly, leaning over her, pushing his knee between hers.

"Come now, Miss Valentine." Jill's lungs stuttered, body falling back against the sheets, and he followed. His other leg pressed in, forcing her to spread her own wider and wider. Jill felt his palms, pushing underneath her shirt, slowly drawing it up her stomach. His hands were hot... hotter than her blush scorched skin, rough as a whetstone in places, heavy against her slim torso. He paused at her breasts, fingers sliding, never leaving her skin as he found the edges of her bra. His head tilted, one brow rising. Jill felt herself flushing even harder.

"Well, well, Miss Valentine." His grin could cut glass. Jill had a penchant for things she thought were pretty. Boots, tube tops, miniskirts. She liked how she looked in them. Especially blue. It matched her eyes, complimented her skin. Maybe it was being a girl, getting to visit France every other summer and winter, or because her father had two sisters who were tailors. She didn't know. Fashion appealed to her, one of the few things she still occasionally, maybe foolishly indulged. Which meant lace wasn't unexpected in her wardrobe. It felt nice, it looked good on her... The Russian seemed to agree.

His long fingers traced the bottom edge, grazing the curves of her breasts beneath the flimsy material. He pushed them up, hard enough to indent her flesh, while his rougher skin caught and pulled on the fabric. Jill gasped, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks. He grazed the peaks beneath, his palms settling overtop her breasts. His hands started to pull, squeezing, squeezing... she thought it might hurt. He was so much bigger, stronger, but it was so warm... warm and tender, and the ache made her back curve off the bed. Made her lips part, made low moans roll from her tongue.

She heard him chuckle, throaty and dark, callouses catching on the soft flesh of her cleavage as he pushed her tank off the rest of the way. Jill's arms rose instinctively, assisting him in removing it, before he returned to the last piece of clothing she wore.

"So sensitive, Miss Valentine." Jill shuddered, his words sinking into her, trickling down to her cunt. She felt it quiver, damp and wanting between her thighs. She bit her lip to stop herself from whining, her head lashing to the side as his hands tugged her bra straps from her shoulders. His lips pressed to her neck, open and wet, leaving a blistering trail from her pulse to her collar. Her moans grew louder as he slid to her chest, his fingers flicking the button on her sternum free. His mouth detoured, even as his hands dragged her bra off her arms.

As soon as cold air touched her bare breasts, she gasped, and almost... she almost covered herself. She hadn't ever been fully naked in front of a man before, despite the many 'compliments' that had been given to her. She didn't know if her body was all that impressive, if she really was worthy of being called 'beautiful'. It was different, coming from one’s parents, but to hear it from someone else, to be utterly bare and - she didn't _need_ him to say it. She didn't need him to say anything, to validate what had been said to her over and over again. But the weight in her chest suggested that something was better than nothing. Or maybe it was her old, aching need to please, to be of use, that reared its foul head. To not disappoint.

He kissed the curve of her left breast, hot breaths across her damp skin making her twitch and release breathy sounds. Higher moans that she couldn't contain, her head rolling back. She could hear her hair hissing beneath her, short locks catching on the sheets. She bit her lip as his mouth feasted on the pale skin of the rise, ignoring the peak. Jill could feel it tightening, just a little, demanding attention but receiving none. She whined despite herself, her pitch dipping to a lower level as he chuckled against her skin.

"Nicholai." It punctured her pleasure addled, embarrassed mind, harsh as a bullet scraping its way out of a chamber. Jill blinked, trying to make sense of the gloom. Her lashes flicked against her own cheeks, lips parting as she sighed -

"Nicholai." His groan thrummed through her, deep and sonorous as a piano key. Jill couldn't help but smile. She raised her hands, shaking with lingering apprehension and adrenaline, brushing them across his shoulders. "Nicholai..." Again, delicate and gentle as snow falling in Raccoon City in September.

"Nicholai!" Desperation on the tip of her tongue, syllables curving off with a newfound edge. Something hot and wet and soft enclosed her nipple. She dared not look down, her mind blanking out as he flicked the tip expertly. Jill gasped, heels digging into the sheets, hands clenching and pulling them by her head. Her left breast tingled, waves of pleasure slithering down her chest, alighting in her core. She tipped her head back, sighing as her nipple pulled, the firm suction forcing a high pitched... she didn't know what to call it. Except that it had never passed her lips before, crooning and high, leaving her pounding lungs.

He didn't stop. She could feel his lips, secured at the base, sliding over her hardening flesh. Jill's chest hitched, her spine and muscles tensing by instinct. She pushed towards his mouth, gasping between throaty moans. Nicholai suddenly sucked harder, her thighs trembling and squeezing his waist. The heat grew between them, slick and pulsing. Jill's nails sunk into his shoulders, a whine breaking free from her. His teeth dragged across the sensitive skin, pinching the tip till she keened. He gripped the base, the cracks of his lips pulling across the plush, pebbled surface.

He released her nipple with a slick sound that made her swallow. She felt a lingering embarrassment, quickly snuffed out when his tongue coiled around the opposite peak, eclipsing it into his maw. He was voracious and fast, nipping with fang, and soothing with heat and softness. One of his hands grazed her shoulder, fingers gliding across her skin to settle on her opposite breast. His callouses sunk into the sensitive flesh, gripping the bud in a vice, twisting to stroke over the top with his thumb. Jill rose higher, forming a bow off the bed, her lower back aching.

"Nicholai..." She would have struggled with her own name, yet those three syllables rolled from her tongue with ease. Jill could feel his other hand, knuckles trailing down the smooth muscles that formed her stomach. His fingers grazed her curls, sliding, slick and warm, across her cunt. She had to stop herself from clenching too hard, to allow the foreign intrusion that she knew was coming. Even as she tried, her thighs grew tense, locking her knees, arching her ankles...

Her resistance collapsed as soon as his middle finger pierced her, striking against a part of her she had only ever managed to graze. It never failed to make her gasp. But Nicholai was thorough, slamming his callous against the soft nerve, pressing the assault till a cry tore its way out of her. She felt him smile against her breast, his tongue slipping out to twirl around her aching nipple.

One finger became two, sliding through the lather between her thighs, coaxing her to a height she had never even come close to achieving on her own. Sound and need peeled themselves from within her lungs, eyes shut tight, and head tipped back against the mattress. The tension in her legs transformed, knees rising, feet forming craters in the sheets. She gripped them by her head, tugging the linen across the bed, tangling it around her wrists.

A third slipped inside of her, just as Nicholai sucked her nipple back into his mouth. He had alternated them twice now, continuing to torment the pebbled tips of her breasts till they were numb and painful and so, so good. The heat grew thicker, his musk rising to meet the salty sweetness of her arousal. Jill closed her eyes, escaping into the darkness, sinking into the sublime wave of rapture that erupted from her chest and cunt.

She felt his hand first. His long, soaked fingers trailing lazily across her thigh. The other clasped her upper arm, thumb rubbing circles into her still coiled muscles.

"Miss Valentine," he released a breathy, sharp laugh against her skin. Jill shuddered, his exhales having gone from scorching to freezing, and yet the aching pleasure remained. There was a layer of soreness, her nipples throbbing in time with her pulse. "You are..." He shook his head, rubbing his nose into the swollen flesh of her breast. " _Full_ of surprises."

"Nicholai..." He raised his head with an answering huff, irises flashing in the gloom. Jill reached forward, refusing to hesitate as she tangled his shirt in her hands. She tugged at the front above his chest, the cotton giving under her palms. She could feel his heat beneath, see the way his muscles stretched the fabric better than in the club, with the shadows sinking into the grooves. He raised his own hands, assisting her as he gripped the back of his collar.

Unconsciously, she had known he was military. It was the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, the way his eyes were keen as knives. He had seen combat, obviously, and he had built his body up for it. And yet her breathing still grew shallow, orbs widening as she took in the rise of his pectorals, the waves of his abs, and the ripple of his arms. Jill swallowed, evading his cutting smirk, and pressed her hands to his collar. She dragged them down, sliding over his muscles, to feel them tense and press into her palms as he breathed. Her fingers curved, watching the skin dip, absorbing how solid he was. She found new points of interest as the shadows slipped into puckers and divots, guiding her curiosity. There were slashes mostly, across his ribs, ivory cracks across his stomach, dipping into his shoulders. There were others though, made like lightning, black and eerie against his abdomen. Her fingers swirled over a deep, circular mark under his pectoral, the nail of her index prodding the thick skin.

Jill's eyes rose, reaching upwards towards his neck.

Her fingers caught the chain, watching the tags click against her wrist. She curled them, the pad of her thumb rubbing across the worn face. Nicholai had stopped, suspended above her. His breathing slowed, chest grazing her knuckles as she let her nail glide across a section of script she couldn't understand. The darkness was too thick, the grooves smoothed by age and combat.

"What does this say?" The line clearly written beneath this name, above a series of what could only be numbers. She could just barely make out the swerve of a '2'.

"Silver wolf." He answered easily, knowing where her curiosity had fallen. Jill giggled. She actually giggled. Her lungs and throat ached with the noise, sinking into her bones. The high that came with such simple joy had escaped her so long, it rushed to her head and made her breathless and giddy. Nicholai huffed, his pale eyes narrowing on her. She still couldn't tell what color they were...

"I thought you might be a wolf." Jill smiled so hard her cheeks ached, because for the last month she hadn't been able to do anything else but stare blankly. Emotionless and infallible, trying so hard to keep herself ground in place.

"And yet you invited me in anyway," Nicholai smirked, leaning down. His eyes turned pure white for an instant, the color returning within the same second. He stroked her sides, fingers sinking to her pelvis, thumbs notching into the bone easily. "Foolish, Miss Valentine, very foolish." He tsked at her, pressing his mouth to her jaw, sliding south to tease her neck with his teeth. For the first time, no fear accompanied the feeling. Only a warm rush of arousal that made her breath hitch. Her nipples dragged across his chest, her lips closing around a whine.

"Why?" He didn't torture her breasts anymore, choosing instead to kiss between them. Nicholai trailed lower, tasting the sweat that beaded on her torso, dripping between her ribs. Jill's hands slid, palms pulling against his slick shoulders, her nails digging lightly into his skin. "You wouldn't eat me... would you, Nicholai?" 

"Oh yes, Miss Valentine." His voice grated, rasping against the skin of her stomach. "I intend to _devour_ you." Her breaths stopped, her mind racing back, to the wolf she had always imagined. Chasing a girl - no, a woman - cloaked in red. A beautiful crimson shade, akin to the blood that throbbed through her heart. She could hear the thunder of his paws in her ears, hear the drop and splatter of his saliva against the ground, taste it on her own tongue...

It was only when Nicholai's palms clasped her thighs, sliding down to brace her against that bed that she jerked - 

"Wait! You don't - You don't have to..." Jill hated how her voice shook, high and aching already. Nicholai raised his eyes, peering at her from beneath a raised brow. She swallowed, steadying her words. "I've heard men don't like it." From the cadets to the captains, it sounded like a chore. Though, when she'd joined S.T.A.R.S, the locker room talk faded. Wesker was always professional, Chris railed on about rock bands and music, and Barry only ever spoke about cookouts and playdates with his family. Joseph and Brad would sometimes talk, but they would never go into too many details, for fear of their team leader.

"How fortunate then, Miss Valentine..." He lowered his head, dragging his stubble across her inner thigh. Jill couldn't help but moan, breath hitching as the tip of his nose pushed gently against her core. "Wolves do not care for the tastes of men." Her inhale stalled, eyes growing wide as his mouth enclosed one of the slick, velvety lips of her cunt. Jill's nails scored across his nape, overwhelmed, and he had only just begun. She couldn't make a sound, couldn't form words as he hollowed his cheeks. Her flesh yielded, unfurling and beating against his tongue, which slid forward to tease and taste every inch of her.

Jill's lungs finally opened on a wail, pushed forth from her aching chest. Her vision grew hazy, lashes heavy as fire alighted across her body. She couldn't tell where it ended, where it began. She didn't care, thighs clenching against his head. He didn't release her labia until it was swollen, pulsing in time with the roaring in her ears. Or was it howling? Nicholai viciously stole the other, lavishing it with the same laps of his tongue, the same pull, and drag of his mouth. Jill didn't know where her hands were, what her voice was doing. Jill wondered if this was what the woman felt: when the wolf tore her open, her nectar painting the leaves and moss, a myriad of colors that put the sunset to shame.

He finally released the guardian of her core, running his nose in between the satin folds he had so thoroughly abused. Jill managed to gulp down a breath, then another. Her eyes were filled with snow, black and blue flakes that drifted back and forth, despite the burn she could feel at their edges. Nicholai pushed forward, robbing her of her heart and lungs once more. They were his to play with, his to devour, along with the bloom he ravished between her legs. He took his time, the heat of his tongue rougher against the silk that awaited at her center. Jill's head lashed, knees drawing up, only to be stopped by his strong fingers. Her own curled, knuckles turning white in his silvery hair.

Nicholai attacked her swollen clit, using the tip of his tongue in hard circles. Jill choked on a sob, but it didn't stop. They flew from her, airy and tormented. Her hips tried to buck, fighting his grip, and lost pathetically. His lips came next, sinking into her bundle of nerves. He sucked as he had before, coaxing out her surrender till she was soaking, limp and aching in the sheets. She whined when he mashed his tongue against her cunt, lapping up her end with a growl that made her legs shake.

Her throat opened as her lungs forcefully rose. She blinked several times, her damp, warm lashes slipping over her cheeks. Nicholai murmured something, something low and Russian, husky and animal, with her viscous release flowing from his lips. He hadn't even touched her entrance, her inner muscles writhing, ravenous and unbearable. She felt him rise, felt the mattress curve and dip as he stalked across its surface. Her legs fell open easily, his palms wide and hard against her shaking thighs. He moved her gently, her knees catching on his waist, ankles arched against his lower back.

Jill finally lowered her gaze, shuddering at what she found -

She didn't recognize her own body. Stretched out, every muscle thrumming as if she'd run a marathon, quivering beneath his bulk. Her breasts swollen and nipples tight, deep red peaks that reminded her of the roses of France's spring. There was a flush she couldn't see the beginning or end to, uneven, and splattered from her collar to her toes. Then further, to the apex of her thighs, where her cunt flared and ached, covered in a sheen that put the rest of her sweaty skin to shame.

Jill's lips quivered, whimpering at the sight of her own desire. And then she saw his. His hands had returned to his belt, unfastening his pants to release the bulge she had almost forgotten about. Her breath halted. She wasn't sure if it was fear or desire that hammered her heart to the back of her throat. His cock hung, thicker and heavier than she'd ever seen, favoring his right side as it curved out of his underwear. She heard him exhale, sharp and rumbling through his nose, nostrils flaring as he wrapped his fist around the length. Her mouth felt dry, tongue sticking to the roof as several droplets beaded across the flared head.

His opposite hand curled beneath her chin, his index circling beneath her jaw. Jill's eyes rose, wide and unflinching, trying to straighten her face. It didn't stop the knot in her stomach, the war of apprehension and want. Nicholai smiled, still and always with so many teeth, and yet it only heightened her arousal.

"It will only hurt for a moment, котенок." She wanted to ask him what it meant, but... it sounded sweet. Maybe it was condescending, maybe even vulgar, but from him it sounded alright. Or maybe it was because all she could do was nod. "Lie back, take a deep breath." Jill obeyed without thought, her hands clutching onto his arms. "Exhale slowly." Her eyes slid shut, just as she felt him nudge against her entrance. His palms gripped her thighs, his biceps rippling under her fingers.

His thrusts started slow, his hips rolling in smooth circles. Jill's breath hitched as he pushed deeper, her walls rippling around him as she was filled and - Jill's gasp ripped itself out of her as he surged forward. Gone. Shredded. She panted, harsh and shaking. Nicholai stopped, his breaths fast and hot against her collar. He whispered Russian words, phrases she couldn't understand. And yet, just as before, they were gentle, smoothed by his intent.

"Nicholai..." The pain dulled, fading as he drew back, lunging forward to force her open. She could feel the end of herself, the crux of her being, attacked every time he surged up. Jill's neck rolled, her body surrendering to his fangs and claws. Her breaths came shorter, harder. He was pressed against her, from her neck to her ankles. She felt his grunts before she heard them, his chest crushed to the sensitive peaks of her breasts. Her stomach to abs, hips locked together, grinding. The friction of their skin echoed with each thrust, each slick glide that sounded filthy and wonderful. His stubble caught her hair, rubbed her cheek, her neck.

For a moment, her vision focused. Beyond the fresh falling rain, the warm glow of the cigarette shop down the alley, or even the smoke that crusted her windows... them. Her hands looked so small, clutching at the broad, strong swerves of his shoulder blades. Her toned legs seemed tiny, breakable with his long fingers splayed across her thighs, and drawn up to clasp his waist. She watched her body arch instinctively, the dull ache of his thrusts muted beneath a crashing wave of pleasure. Jill could see her toes curling, the tension that gripped her as she bowed up, her spine curving off the sheets. She could see every muscle in him, the way they pulled taut, the ivory of scars ethereal and dark against his skin. Her own echoed and trembled beneath him, ready to be ripped apart. Jill's lashes grew heavy, burning with a wave of tears.

 _Is it always this beautiful_?

Would her next lover be this handsome? Would he be so generous and patient?

She couldn't see his face, but she knew his name. She doubted she'd ever forget it.

"Nicholai..." He answered her with a grunt, the tempo of his hips growing faster, harder. The ache turned to blinding, to numbing. Jill's nails sliced into him, all rational thought slipping from her mind. His growl sounded like the lash of snow, felt like it against her throat. Her stomach grew tighter, the knot twisting at the base of her spine. Her cunt felt so... good. The wetness spilling over her thighs, trickling into the sheets. He rubbed against her walls, striking that spot inside her with little effort. Jill gasped and moaned, every breath leaving her raw and empty. Her lips clung, swollen and hot, every time he dragged himself out of her. His breaths came harsher, skin slipping across her own.

"Look at me." Nicholai pulled away from her hair, his elbows digging into the mattress. "Look at me." Jill could barely turn her head, her vision still misted with tears. His thumbs scraped her cheeks, clearing them away for her. A snap of his hips made her swallow a sob. Russian fell past his moist, rough lips, bringing the heat in her to nigh unbearable. But it was her name, her name passing his fangs, broken from his clenched jaw -

"Jill - _Jill._ " Her whole body jerked. Her throat opened, splintering wide till it hurt. Her thighs clenched, the tension that erupted through her bordering painful. She trembled, struck by lightning, freezing in a blizzard. Jill's lips parted; her breath stolen by the wave of liquid heat that gushed from her cunt. Hotter, wetter, expanding within her to prolong her inevitable end. It washed away memory and nightmare, leaving her blistering and open, intoxicated by her own mortality. There was no soreness, no ache, only a haze all-consuming that she never wanted to come back from...

But she did. And she was met with wide, pale eyes, and warm breaths that caressed her cheeks and brow. Jill blinked once, twice... barely managing thrice. A shudder wracked her body, boneless and twitching beneath him. She couldn't remember feeling so... relaxed. Weak and yet warm, without terror or adrenaline. Jill released a stuttering breath, inhaling sharply, only to slow midway. She absorbed the brush of his chest against hers, the way her heartbeat pounded and slowed against her sternum. Her fingers tingled, sliding against the curves of his shoulders, following the bulge of his bicep.

"Miss Valentine..." His voice had roughened, dropping several octaves. He kissed her with a growl, the citrus of his mouth trapped in the dips of her lips. Jill gasped through her nose, her fingers giving a weak squeeze against his arm. She came back for another... and another. Their mouths sounded almost as wet and filthy as a moment ago, dragging across each other’s lips with ease. "I believe I owe you an apology, Miss Valentine..." Nicholai drew away, finally, when her breaths had started to grow fast and hard again. The way he chuckled suggested he wasn't sorry in the slightest. "I don't usually finish inside women. Bad form, in my line of work." Jill watched the crooked pull of his lips, the way they dipped and curved with all the lines of a blade. Her own was softer, slower to form.

"That's okay... I liked it." His grin faded, just a little. His brow furrowed, a vein twitching in his temple. She was too exhausted, too warm and content for her mood to be soured by searching for an explanation to his change. Jill's hips pushed back, curling up again, just to feel the heat of him inside her. Flaccid now, but still... still there. His release was too, sticking to her walls, filling her up when he wasn't anymore. Something moved inside of her, drawing a contented sigh from her lips.

Words were becoming more difficult, as was keeping her eyes open. But she wanted to keep looking at him, memorizing the drip of salt down his cheeks. She wanted to be able to recall how his sweat made his silvery hair gleam, how it turned his wide eyes the same shade, and the snow that dusted his jaw, despite the eerie lighting of her apartment. She wanted to remember how his muscled chest felt against her, how his abs bulged, the twist of his thick biceps, and the edge of his smile with so many teeth. And maybe, if she stayed awake long enough, she could even be allowed to carve a few of his scars into her memory.

"Thank you... for being gentle." She saw his Adam's apple rise, rolling down his throat, framed in a sheen of neon.

 _This isn't what it’s_ _about_. A voice shot through her mind, reminding her of what she had allowed, what she had sought. _He's going to leave_. He would be gone before the sun trickled down to her windows, gone before she opened her eyes, gone before she even closed them. And why shouldn't he?

Why couldn't he have been someone she loved?

 _Maybe I could have_ ... Jill wasn't romantic by nature, but something about - about **this** had changed her perspective of a man whose name she had only learned probably a little over an hour ago. _So? You were going to give yourself to him with or without it_. She snapped at herself. Jill swallowed whatever leftover sound was in her throat. It was a weak thing, and no match for her pride. She hadn't been stupid. It wasn't like she had gone in, expecting anything more.

She composed herself as he withdrew, sliding away from her and off the edge of the bed. Jill sat up slowly, trying her best to keep her face as placid and still as the pond her mother raised koi in. He didn't speak. His motions were quick, he cleaned up with all the precision of honed practice. This was normal for him. Well, maybe he wasn't used to virgins propositioning him, but the act of fucking and leaving was clearly ingrained in him. She watched his stomach, his chest, how the muscles wove beneath his skin. The shadows made them stand out, the tangle of crimson and orange, a splash of yellow across his thick nape. After so many years, a little shallow indulgence didn't seem so bad. Especially when his arms and torso flexed as he fastened his pants back in place.

Jill ran her fingers through her hair as he turned away and collected his shirt, settling her eyes on the wall. She didn't watch how his shoulders worked, didn't see the flash of his scars as they twisted over his back. He leaned over, collecting his jacket. She heard his dog tags jingle, jaw clenching as she turned her head to look out the window. The numbers on her alarm clock burned into her retina - 11:37. Not even midnight. Maybe if he left fast enough, she could recover some of the lingering warmth of release in her bones, enjoy what remained of her afterglow.

"Goodnight, Miss Valentine." His boots clicked across the wood floor. Her front door creaked as it always did. She was grateful to hear the _click_ of the lock.

But even she knew she couldn't simply crawl onto her bed. Not with the lingering scent of his musk and cologne, the smell of sex that would turn stale and sour, or the taste of his sweat and citrus on the tip of her tongue. Jill forced her legs to work, to pull herself the rest of the way to her feet. Her knees shook, ankles aching. She hissed as her toes met the cold slats, curling them against the numbing chill. She tore the sheets from the bed, tossing them into the corner with all the rest of her unwashed laundry, a pile that had long passed the threshold of shameful.

Jill passed through her kitchen in a daze, flinching as her fingers wrapped around the cold handle of her bathroom. She lingered, a curious, awful vertigo sweeping over her. It felt as if she had forgotten something, left it at the bar, in the hallway. But whatever it was had left her. She'd torn it out of herself.

Jill shivered, clenching her fist around the brass knob, and pushed. Her gaze swept over the familiar tile, the sink, and the plain shower curtain. She avoided the mirror, no matter how much her chest ached with curiosity. She ignored the throb in her temples, striding over to the tub. She turned it on full blast, climbing under the spray with her head bowed. Cold, at first, it lanced through her nerves with white-hot fury. Jill throttled her voice, releasing only a gasping hiss. She wrapped her arms around herself, ignoring the throb of the sensitive skin of her breast. The water rippled over her skin, turning to a scalding rain that turned her flesh pink, and then a bright, angry red where it struck. Jill shuddered, fumbling for her soap, and started at her collar. Her cheeks burned. She didn't remember it tasting salty. She scrubbed till her blistering skin became raw, mercilessly rubbing over the tender skin of her cunt. She barely even paused to wince at the fluid, already crusting at her knees.

Steam curled off her when she finally stepped out, the water having faded back to frigid. It gave her an excuse for the shake in her lips, in her hands as they pressed the towel to her face. She breathed in, absorbing the fresh cotton and fabric softener, dragging it down her neck to pat the remaining moisture off her skin. She tossed it into the hamper, stopping once more on at the door. Jill stared down at her fist, her nails curled over the cool, steam covered handle. Her head rose, a harsh breath exiting her lungs. Her neck turned, eyes trailing along the wall, her heart slowly climbing into her throat.

 _Nothing._ She hadn't expected the rotting flesh that haunted her nightmares, the taunting shade of a lost comrade, or... she didn't know what she expected. Certainly not herself, with shimmering sky blues, and hair that glittered like moist earth. A few, stray drops pattered against her shoulder, following the curve of her collar, dropping down her sternum. Her skin had turned from red to pale and pink, spotted with every color in between. Her body looked the same, toned and strong, and... normal. Nothing lost. Nothing gained.

Jill stepped out of the bathroom, glancing back at herself, ensuring the visage had not changed. It didn't. It hadn't. It was the same as it was yesterday morning, and that evening before she'd left. She looked the same as she had even three weeks ago.

Yet she couldn't help but feel that something was missing...

Jill found a clean t-shirt, rummaging around for simple, cotton panties that she hesitated before slipping on. She was so tired... exhausted. But she made herself put new sheets on the bed, mechanically tugging them into place, ignoring the lingering tang in the air. She blamed her shuddering on the sudden chill of her apartment, the cold air numbing her feet. As she laid down, she realized she hadn't brushed her teeth. Nutmeg and citrus shouldn't taste so familiar, clinging to her tongue. She swallowed what she thought might have been a sob. It lodged in her throat, forcing her to cough, expelling whatever sorrow lingered. It shouldn't have, but it followed her into bed, heavier than her usual anguish.

She curled up under her clean comforter, squeezing her eyes shut. Jill fooled herself into believing that her trembling exhale was less a whine, more a sigh. 

At least there weren't any nightmares.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation (I used Google like a cheater):
> 
> "Ты хоть представляешь, что это делает с мужчиной?" = "Do you have any idea what this does to a man?"
> 
> "котенок" = "Kitten."  
> ×××
> 
> Basically, my initial thought when writing this was: "sweet, virgin Jill whose hypersensitive shagging big scary Russian". And I've always had it in my mind that Nicholai is a sex god whose hung like a horse. Fight me. Jill deserves a man who can rock her world. 
> 
> That was it. There was nothing existential to it. But I am incapable of writing smut without some form of context, so - here we have it. 
> 
> In the end, this really involves delving into the headspace of Jill. This is a few weeks after the Mansion Incident, and a few days before the Outbreak. Jill has always been a thoughtful woman, with some rock-solid logic. As stated, her experiences with men were brief and limited. Her mother and father didn't help, but neither did her own workaholic nature. She may have had a few opportunities, but she's smart enough to know that getting involved with a colleague would put her in a weird, and potentially toxic predicament.
> 
> Pair this with her recent trauma, which has driven her into a paranoid, angry depression, and you've got a recipe for spiraling out of control. For no longer giving a flying shit. She has allowed her life to be stolen from her, burying her issues, choosing to ignore them for the mission she has given herself. This is her... **slamming** into them without apology, because she'll be damned if she lets Umbrella take her too. But Jill is biting off more than she can chew. She's clearly in agony, even now, reaching through her fear towards a desire for intimacy. She wants to fix herself, by herself. 
> 
> Enter Nicholai. He's feeling loose, ready to work off some steam while working security duty for Umbrella, with the secret objective to be in position when it all comes crashing down. And here's a beautiful woman, with a gorgeous face, and a body he can't help but want to pin against the nearest wall. But he sure as hell did not expect her to be a virgin, not that he's complaining. Damn, he's _flattered_ (and really damn smug, this is Nicholai we're talking about). This woman who’s not only one of the most striking he's ever seen, but with a backbone of steel. She walked up to him so easily, brazenly asking for a fuck, with all the bravado of someone whose done it before. However, his line might be raising some eyebrows now that you've read the translation. Good. ;3
> 
> The biggest thing I struggled with... is the ending. I wrote it over and over again. I pondered Nicholai staying or leaving for a long time. But as I said in the last chapter, I've been wanting to tackle a **darker** Nicholai. One closer to the game, whose all about money and himself. 
> 
> The problem, I realized... was Jill. I wanted him to stay with her. _I_ wanted him to shower with her, to help her clean the bed, and then to lounge with her on his chest while they drifted off. I had a nearly desperate need to give _Jill_ a softer ending. To let her have all the tenderness she wanted - needed - because of everything that's happened to her. Upon realizing this, however, I realized I was sacrificing Nicholai's characterization - something I struggle with already - for Jill's happiness. And as I've said before: everyone is an unreliable narrator. We are our own storytellers, and since this story is wholly from her perspective, we know nothing of Nicholai's feelings or intentions towards her. We can only glean them from his subtle reactions, which, are noticed by who? Yep, Jill.
> 
> But, to put this into perspective: Nicholai received an eyeful of Jill Valentine with sweat shining over every inch of her. He saw her with a flush that covered her, soft breasts with rosebud peaks, and a stunning, throbbing cunt glistening around him. And those eyes... those beautiful, deep, sky blues glittering with pleasure. Kiss swollen lips and marks he made on her perfect neck. Then to hear her, to listen to her sigh so lovingly, words that men only dream of hearing with a smile that's pure bliss...
> 
> In the end, I had to let Jill bear the brunt of a new regret, one that seats itself deep in her chest. At least this one was softened, because she's able to feel even just a tiny bit better. She's gotten a little somewhere with her recovery. It's a: "two steps forward, one back", sort of approach.
> 
> You can imagine how quickly that idea is going to change when the Outbreak hits. For both of them.  
> Will I be following this up? Who knows. I make no promises, since _Infection_ is meant to be a series of one-shots.
> 
> Also, smut scenes are effectively as difficult as fight scenes.... they're also very similar. >_> Or is it just me?


End file.
